


Say Something, Brad

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Holding [7]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, No Angst, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: They’ve been on the same line together for however many years now but his friend always apologizes for fumbling plays. Even when Brad won’t say he’s sorry to the press, to the team, to anyone else, he always does for Patrice.They’re not really sure why this is a thing.





	Say Something, Brad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).



> This is based on part of Alex's reply to a comment I left on [this work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213149/chapters/43087052):
> 
> [watching marcheron goals in person never gets old. it's as if they have some form of telepathy on the ice (now thats a fic idea) and it feels like magic]
> 
> Also Alex - apparently I wasn't following your main Tumblr and I just thought I was. This has since been fixed.

_*Shit, I’m offside.*_ It comes half a second before the ref blows the whistle to stop play. Patrice relinquishes the puck, because Brad was just a step too far and over the blue line. _*Sorry, Bergy.*_

They’ve been on the same shift together for however many years now but his friend always apologizes for fumbling plays. Even when Brad won’t say he’s sorry to the press, to the team, to anyone else, he always does for Patrice (who isn’t really sure how to feel about that).

They’re not really sure why this is a thing. As far as Patrice knows, hearing team mates’ thoughts isn’t normal. The NHL has some weird shit that goes on sometimes - once Krej disappeared for five days and then popped back into existence out of thin air while the team was in the locker room dressing for a game; Torey is out right now because his stick won’t let go of his hands, so he’s in the hospital until it and the gloves will come back off; Halak always has gut-wrenching bad dreams on the nights before games where Tuukka achieves shut-outs, which is great for the team but bad for him. Not one of them can read each other’s minds like Brad and Patrice can.

Patrice and his line all go to the bench so the next shift can go on and take the face-off in the neutral zone. Half the time they discuss things out loud, but the other half they do what they’re doing now.

 _*I’m so fucking sick of Price, he’s too good at his job,*_ Brad grumbles like it’s the first time he’s saying that instead of the hundred billionth.

Patrice still somehow is forced to hold in his laugh and keep a straight face, knowing his best friend will hear it anyway. _*Hey, at the very least it won’t be a shut-out.*_

 _*You’re too good at your job, too,*_ Brad jokes. _*We’re all kindergartners with broken knees next to you, Bergy.*_

 _*I wouldn’t be half as good without you,*_ Patrice replies honestly. He always tells Brad this but Brad never believes him.

Brad’s ears turn red, bright against his white away game helmet, and Patrice can see him trying very hard not to make faces. _*You can’t say things like that.*_

 _*I just did. When are you going to get over it?*_ Patrice huffs.

They always have to keep blank expressions, because nobody else knows about this weird power of theirs and they need to make sure it stays that way. It could be called cheating or something similar. Patrice doesn’t remember who exactly, but when he was a rookie he’d heard about two players that got separated because they were literally magnetic - one could fling something at the other and it would always catch, which definitely included passing pucks back and forth.

The 2nd ends, score still 1-1. Patrice isn’t sure how much of his frustration is his own and how much is bleeding over from Brad, who’s grumbling under his breath the whole way to the locker room. It’s not part of the mind-reading, but Patrice just _knows_ that his left wing is going to get into a fight coming up. His gut screams “Marchy’s going to attack someone twice his size!” as they’re sitting there, listening to Bruce Cassidy talk about strategy.

Like always, his intuition is right. Brad and a Canadien get into it after Patrice is tripped, even though the ref has already called a penalty. It takes every drop of his self-control not to flinch in pain as knuckles slam into Brad’s left cheek and the impact radiates over from their mental link. Brad gets five minutes for fighting and the Bruins go on the power play for two; the Canadien gets a minor for the tripping call and a fighting major identical to Brad’s, the latter of which won’t have an impact on his team’s time short-handed.

Patrice has to remember at the last second not to rub his aching face, but he can at least tell that Brad’s cheek bone isn’t broken because Brad only thinks how annoying it is instead of how unbearable it is. There’ll be a spectacular bruise for awhile, though.

 _*Why did you have to get into that fight, Marchy? Now my face hurts!*_ Patrice asks, somewhere between sarcasm, an actual joke, and resigned irritation. He already knows the answer even before Brad thinks it.

_*Nobody fucks with you and gets away with it.*_

It always gets him, how Brad’s so serious about it. Patrice can take care of himself, and if need be he’ll throw hands (no matter how rare it is for him to do so), but Brad for some reason just can’t stand it when things like this happen and always gets up in arms about it with opposing players. Every time Patrice brings it up off the ice, Brad immediately changes the subject and (very bizarrely) gets a really annoying song stuck in his head, making it almost impossible to pick up what he’s thinking about beyond a random word or two.

Outside of a certain distance they can’t hear each other thinking anyway. With Brad in the box and Patrice on the bench, able to stare at one another directly across the ice, it’s fine. But if Brad is at one goal and Patrice is at the other, things get fuzzy and rough like when a car radio can’t quite pick up a station. They don’t have to be looking at each other to share thoughts, though, which is really good because it would make communication during play difficult.

Even with this inexplicable connection, though, the pair of them can’t score during the 3rd once Brad is out of the box and neither can anyone else, so they lose 2-1 in a shootout. This means lots of cranky faces and friends snapping at each other while they’re piling onto the plane, because they’re now on their way to LA and can’t even sleep first.

The weirdness of being an NHL player even shows up here, becausa Pasta, who’s normally bright and always smiling, is turning into a translucent outline again while he sulks over the loss. This is nothing unusual to see, though, and is one of the less strange phenomena that happens. Backes, on the other hand, is getting really staticky and accidentally shocks anyone who comes within a foot of him even though he’s sitting perfectly still and not rubbing anything. Heinen’s fingertips are glowing bright purple. Everyone’s a little off, it seems, but these kinds of things are only rarely seen in other professional sports, which is why it’s still so odd to be part of the NHL.

 _*We’ll do better tomorrow,*_ Patrice promises to Brad, who’s doing something with his phone.

 _*It could’ve been worse,*_ Brad agrees from six seats away.

_*You didn’t have to get into that fight in the 3rd, though.*_

_*Tough shit. Nobody goes after you and gets away with it.*_

_*If I need someone to get punched I can do it myself, you know,*_ Patrice chuckles, tuning out the noise of the rookies griping to each other.

 _*See, you say that, but you never do,*_ Brad points out. He huffs. _*It doesn’t matter. It still could’ve been worse tonight, and we’ll do better tomorrow like you said.*_

The amount of faith Brad has in him is kind of ridiculous, and Patrice can feel it lapping his mind like waves on a beach. It’s a warm, soothing sensation - how his friend always believes him when he says things like that. Patrice knows the gratefulness he’s feeling will be sliding across to Brad, and if he was anyone else, Brad would make fun of him for it. But that’s not what happens, because Brad never makes fun of him.

The flight is too long, and nobody gets in a successful nap because of the turbulence. By the end of it Backes’ shock-radius has increased to over a yard and Heinen’s whole body is shimmering with violet light. The only one who seems to be doing better is Pasta, who’s fully visible again because nothing can keep him down for long. Acciari has gone mute, not in the sense that he won’t talk to anyone but rather that when he moves his mouth no sound comes out and nothing he does can be heard either, even stomping his feet.

In the hotel once they finally land, Brad seems distressed to learn he’s sharing a room with Patrice. That by itself is a hundred times more strange and unsettling than any of the problems currently being experienced by their teammates, even Heinen complaining that he won’t be able to sleep with his skin like this and Backes apologizing repeatedly for zapping one of the other hotel guests. Brad hardly ever rooms with Patrice, and there’s no reason he should be upset about it, but it seems like he is. Patrice tries as hard as he can not to be hurt by this, because he knows Brad will feel it.

 _*Relax, Bergy, it’s got nothing to do with you…*_ Brad looks more distressed with every unspoken word. _*Just please don’t bring it up right now, okay?*_

Patrice refuses to wonder about it any further. _*Okay, Marchy. I hope whatever it is gets better for you.*_

_*It won’t. Thanks anyway, though.*_

Once they’ve gotten their keys and gone up, it takes a second to figure out which end of the card is which (something Brad always finds really annoying) but when they get in the beds are really nice. Patrice rolls his eyes as his best friend immediately steals the one next to the window, even though he doesn’t actually mind and they both know it.

“You’re too nice for your own good, Bergy,” Brad scoffs. After communicating silently in the hotel lobby and the entire plane ride, to say nothing of the game before that, it’s almost startling to speak out loud again.

“How long have we been doing this, now?” Patrice wonders.

Brad shrugs. “I don’t know. Since they put me on your line. You freaked out the first time, remember?”

They both grin and start snickering a little at the memory, despite their shared exhaustion. “I never got tripped by a teammate before,” Patrice laughs.

“I didn’t trip you!” Brad insists. “I wasn’t anywhere near you!”

“It felt the same as getting tripped. You were thinking too loud and it scared me.” They’ve had this argument so many times by now, and neither of them ever wins it, either - they always get bored with it and change the topic to other things. This time’s no different, except that it happens sooner… because somehow, it only now occurs to him to ask Brad: “Why do you think it is this way for us?”

His friend looks… embarrassed?

“Okay, so. Like. It’s nothing to do with you, Pat. It’s all me. I’m doing it.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I… I started doing it when I was like five years old, okay? But it was random and shit back then, I couldn’t help it. I had to learn how to control it. But, uh, I can’t do it with everyone. Only certain people. Like. I can sort of ‘feel’ which people. If I really wanted, I could also do this with Krej or Wags or Tuukka. They’d be able to hear. You’re able to hear, and… when I started in the NHL back then, I could ‘feel’ you first. Like when I was a kid, before I could control it, anyone that I ‘felt’ could just always hear whatever I was thinking. But around high school I finally got it under control and I learned how to pick who hears. So they put me on your line and I picked you, Bergy. It made sense at the time, and… I’m glad I did it.”

Patrice smiles encouragingly. “I’m glad you did it, too.”

“I ‘felt’ you first,” Brad continues, looking to the side instead of making eye contact. “You’re… I don’t know, you’re brighter than anyone else, I can ‘feel’ you better. It’s easier than anyone else I ever picked, too. It’s a lot stronger. Most other people who can hear me like this, it’s just whatever they’re thinking about. But when you broke your foot I could feel it for days. I know you felt me get punched earlier, too.”

“Yeah,” Patrice nods. “So wait, when my lung collapsed…”

“No, I didn’t really get all of that,” Brad grins. “And thank fucking god, too. No, I couldn’t always get everything from you like this, it was kind of… gradual, I guess? Like my brain learned how to get more from you or some shit. But I also… never did it with anyone else for as long as with you, either.”

Brad shrugs to punctuate his statement and Patrice, right then, re-notices the spot where he got clocked. He’ll be bruised for over a week. Brad notices him noticing, and then - a flash of something, some feeling, and it takes a moment for Patrice to identify it while his friend is desperately trying to stifle it, a little too late.

Longing.

Patrice gawks while Brad stares at the floor, radiating guilt and knowing he figured it out. “Brad-”

“I’m sorry.”

 _*Okay, don’t,*_ Patrice thinks, as hard as he can. Brad looks like he’s been punched again. _*I’m not mad, I’m just… really surprised. Your brain is connected to mine. How did you hide this so long?*_

 _*Through a lot of effort.*_ Brad closes his eyes and lets it all drift across to Patrice, all the daydreams and pining graduating to Brad’s current state of I-love-this-guy-and-I-would-die-for-him-if-he-asked-me-to. _*I’m so fucking sorry, Pat. I should’ve said something.*_

Patrice is mostly just overwhelmed with the info-dump that’s been poured straight into his head. Brad has apparently been in love with him for years and managed to keep it secret until now, imagining all kinds of scenarios that would go both ways. Dramatic love confessions after won games or getting together almost by accident through advanced-level gay chicken; on the other hand, Patrice kindly rejecting him in every way imaginable.

None of these expectations, whether good or bad, are matching up to their current situation, where Patrice found this out completely by mistake probably because Brad is too tired to keep a tighter grip on his emotions. And Patrice thinks - he doesn’t mind Brad hearing these thoughts - how dumb he’s been until now, because sometimes he wondered why when their rooms were right next to each other he couldn’t hear Brad dreaming, and worrying when Brad gets into fights or gets hurt, and whenever he wants to go out and do something off the ice Brad is always his go-to guy even ignoring them being best friends.

Brad’s been scared to tell Patrice how he feels while Patrice, until now, couldn’t see the forest for the trees and simply didn’t realize that he wants Brad just as much.

They stare at each other like idiots for a second, and then Brad (being Brad) starts cracking up. “What?” Patrice asks.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” Brad giggles. His laughter is infectious and it ends up with them both kneeling on the floor, having hysterics until they can’t breathe. They rest their foreheads together and their watering eyes meet. “We have a game coming up, we should probably sleep or something, right?” Brad pants.

Patrice nods, moving both their heads. “Yeah, we should.” Neither of them try to get up. So close like this, it’s impossible to tell whose thoughts are whose or where the impulse comes from, and they both move in for a kiss at the same time. It’s perfect and lasts the exact right amount of time, the way first kisses never are (at least in Patrice’s experience). “Or that. That’s good, too.”

Brad chuckles. “So you were thinking this earlier, you can’t hear me dreaming because when I’m asleep it just turns off or something. It only works when I’m awake.”

“Okay,” Patrice nods. Before, he probably would’ve wondered why, but right now he’s not interested in the reasoning behind things. They get up in identical movements and lay down on the same bed, still unsure who is thinking what between them. At the very least, though, Patrice knows one thought that’s his. _*Thank you for picking me.*_

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are nice but they're also a little bit of a cop-out. Please comment.


End file.
